The Breakup Support Group

“Dad, we’re just friends,” I say, feeling a heat rise in my cheeks.

“Friends are the best kind of people to have over,” he says.

I step forward and grab Emory’s arm. “You ready to go?”

Mom tsks and holds up her cell phone. “Not without a picture, Isla.” She motions to us with her hand. “Now stand in front of the fireplace and smile.”

“I’m sorry about this,” I mutter to Emory as we do what Mom asks.

“No worries,” he says back, flashing me a grin. He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me to him, lining us up for the perfect homecoming photo.

Mom snaps a few pictures, all the while beaming as if this were my wedding day instead of a silly homecoming dance. “Absolutely beautiful,” she says, nodding to her phone as she reviews the pictures.

“Yes, she is,” Emory says, glancing down at me. Chills tingle down my spine as we step away from the fireplace. He shakes my dad’s hand. “Thanks for letting me spend the evening with your daughter, Mr. Rush.”

“You’re quite welcome, son,” Dad says, grasping Emory’s hand with both of his. “You two have fun.”

Nothing of these last few minutes has been the same as my last four years of dating. I knew that a fake date with Emory would never be exactly like my old dates with Nate, but I hadn’t expected how drastically different they would be. The feeling of butterflies when a new guy opens the door for me and the excitement of the night ahead of us—none of those feelings happened quite like this before.

Emory says something about my parents being nice as we walk down the sidewalk and to his Camaro, which is parked on the side of the road.

“I didn’t know they could be so nice until someone charmed the pants off of them,” I say, playfully nudging him in the ribs with my elbow.

Emory turns a coy gaze in my direction. “What can I say? I’m good with parents.”

He leans forward and opens the passenger door for me. I can’t help but gawk in surprise. “And you open doors? You’re some kind of supreme gentleman.”

“Of the highest order,” he says with a flourish of his hand. I climb into the car. He throws me a wink before closing the door, and I’m left feeling a thousand emotions at once.

The biggest one is fear that I will regret this.

Chapter Twenty-Four

As the engine cranks to life, I feel a small thrill at riding with Emory for the first time. When we ate pizza in here a few days ago, I hadn’t heard the roar of the engine or felt the soft vibrations beneath my feet. This car is alive.

He shifts into first gear and pulls out into the road, weaving through the neighborhood streets as easily as if it were his own subdivision. The silence stretches on for a few minutes, but I spend that time admiring Emory. The way he grips the steering wheel, the laser-sharp focus in his eyes when we cross an intersection.

“You’re a good driver,” I say on impulse. The only other teenaged guys I’ve ridden with

made hard stops and too-sharp turns. Plus, there’s something to be said about riding low in a sports car. The entire experience is amusing in a way you can’t have in the front seat of a monster truck. Of course, you can’t make out in the front seat of a Camaro as easily as you could in Nate’s truck.

Not that it matters.

“I’ve had plenty of practice,” he says, shifting into a higher gear.

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

I lift an eyebrow. “That’s as much practice as I have,” I say with a snort. “And I don’t look as suave as you do when I’m driving.”

“Well … have you driven across the country a few times?” I shake my head, and he flashes me a smile as we pull up to a red light. “Then I have more practice than you.”

We’re nearly at the high school now, and I feel a pang of anxiety because our drive is almost over. Soon we’ll be surrounded by people and this intimate time where it’s just the two of us will be gone. I slide my fingertips down the side of my car seat, tracing the stitching on the leather. “Where have you been?”

“East coast, west coast. Not much up north,” he says. His focus seems to sharpen as he thinks back. “Of course, my longest road trips were this summer when I had tons of free time to kill. Now I have to wait until the winter break to go anywhere fun.”

“I bet girls love going on road trips with you.” The moment the words are out of my mouth I feel like an idiot of epic proportions. My teeth dig into my inside of my lip. Emory grins as he turns the car into the parking lot and rolls slowly over a speed bump.